A Year of Slavery	Back to J	Back to main page

Collected by Djian

A Year of Slavery
by unknown star

Part 4

The limousine arrived precisely at 6 pm. The chauffeur quickly and
silently opened the door for me to get in. To my embarrassment I
realized he was the same man who had driven me to the Doctor's office
and home after my first ordeal. He had seen the condition I was in and
heard me sobbing in the back seat. As our eyes briefly met I felt a hot
flush come over me. I wondered exactly what did he know? What kind of a
person did he think I was? Did he know what horrors awaited me? He
remained silent as I slid into the back of the car. As expected sitting
was not an easy task. The strange undergarments made it very
uncomfortable. Within minutes we were on the expressway headed out of
Brooklyn towards Long Island. I had made this trip several times during
my employment to Mr. Winston. Those trips had been either for meetings
or social events. This time would be much different. We drove in
complete silence. This only made the journey seem longer. I could not
help wondering what was in the chauffeur's mind. Did he know why I was
being brought to the Winstons. Had he driven other women to the same
fate that awaited me. My mind was a maze of questions. The deeper into
thought I ventured, the more confused I became. The thought of demanding
to be brought back home even crossed my mind. That was quickly replaced
by the fear of the consequences. I had in fact signed a contract and
confession of guilt. If for any reason I did not follow the instructions
I would be arrested immediately and sent to prison. As much as I feared
my impending ordeals, the thought of five years in the place I had seen
in the video left me little choice. The silence and the fear were
working on my nervous system so I ventured to try a conversation. I
asked how long before we arrived at our destination. My reply was
complete silence. Out of frustration I asked if he knew the purpose of
my trip. The only reply was a quick backward glance in my direction. I
realized any effort to communicate was futile, this man was well
trained. Again I sat back in my seat trying to find a somewhat
comfortable position. As I looked out of the window I saw a sign that
read exit 36 1 mile. We were almost at the Winston's home. I knew from
past experience it would only be about another ten minutes before we
arrived. I immediately felt a knot start to form deep in the pit of my
stomach. The terror of what would happen to me was again beginning to
take its toll. My body was starting to shake uncontrollably and I felt
my heart pounding in my chest. I opened the window to get some air as I
felt a wave of nausea come over me. I took several deep breaths and
tried to control my fears. I knew I had to regain my composure or I was
truly doomed.

I had gone over this night in my mind many times and resigned myself to
the fact that I would have to use all my strength and will power to
survive. I looked up in time to see the chauffeur almost staring at me
through the rear view mirror. I felt instantly embarrassed at the
spectacle I was making of myself. I rolled up the window and sat back in
the seat not wishing to further humiliate myself. I lit a cigarette
thinking this could be the last for quite a while. As I tried to relax
for the last few minutes of the journey my mind took over and brought
into focus all the thoughts I had been having for the past two weeks.

I had resigned myself to certain facts. I was sure I would be exhibited
like some prize animal. The lingerie I was wearing made that very
obvious. The fact that I would be beaten and tortured in various ways
was made very clear to me by comments made by the Winstons. I also knew
I would be used in many different ways as a sex slave by the group of
men and women. The thought of being forced into various sexual acts with
the men was horrible, but I knew I could get through that. It was the
prospect of sex with the women that was totally revolting. I had never
been with a woman and for some strange reason feared them much more than
I feared the men. It was probably a fear of the unknown. There was
nothing sexual a man could do to me that had not been done before. I
quickly thought of the worst case scenario. I might be forced to give
someone a blow-job. I've done that before. Although it was not high on
my list, I would get through it. I also thought of the possibility of
being fucked in the ass. Again, I had done it before and would survive.
The women were different. I had seen videos showing women having sex
with each other. The thought of sucking another breast or eating
someone's pussy absolutely turned my stomach. As I began to delve deeper
into these most distressing thoughts the car made a sudden turn. As I
looked up I realized we were in the driveway of the Winston's house. As
we drove up to the front door we passed three large imported luxury cars
which I had never seen before. The one closest to the door was a new
Mercedes 600 SEL. It was black with dark tinted windows. For some
strange reason just the appearance of that car sent a shiver through my
body. It reminded me of old war movies I had seen where the German
Gestapo had similar cars. They would take some poor woman away to be
tortured. The only difference here was I was coming to them. The
chauffeur opened my door and extended his hand to help me out. Getting
out of the car was even more difficult than getting in. The constricting
clothing I was wearing made movement awkward. As I stretched my leg out
to the pavement my coat parted revealing me almost to the waist. As I
looked up the chauffeur's eyes was locked on my near nakedness. His
greedy stare was taking in the fact that I was not wearing anything but
the garter belt under the coat leaving my pussy totally exposed. As I
looked up my eyes met his and to my surprise I detected a sympathetic
look.
Before I had a chance to say a word, he in a kind and gentle tone told
me to be strong and hang in. He also assured me that he would be there
to make sure I was all right, and got home safely. His change of
attitude caught me off guard. Before I could think about it the door
opened and Goldie was telling me to come inside. As I walked into the
large entrance hall I heard the door close behind me. The sound made me
realize how alone and vulnerable I was. It served to remind me of the
title I had been given, slave. I was startled by Goldie's voice. She
sarcastically told me how good it was to see me again. As I looked in
her direction I could not help seeing the way she was looking at me. I
had seen the same hungry glare in the Doctor's office and the ladies
room at work. I quickly turned my focus from her eyes to what she was
wearing. It was not her normal maid's uniform. Instead it was a tight
black dress, dark stockings and black high heels.
Before I had a chance to analyze the maid's strange attire my thoughts
were interrupted by the sound of spike heels on the marble floor. It was
Mrs. Winston. As she approached all my deepest fears surfaced and I felt
my body begin to involuntarily shake. I had to reach deep into myself to
find the strength to regain what little composure I had left. As she
came closer I could not help noticing her clothes. She was wearing a
short red leather skirt, a black silk blouse, black nylons and red high
heels. It was in total contrast to her normally conservative style.
Instead of any kind of greeting she said in a stern voice that it was a
good thing I was on time. Next I was asked if I was wearing what she had
provided, and if I had followed all the instructions I had been given.
The look on her face and the tone of her voice frightened me. In a panic
I mentally retraced all the preparations I had put myself through.
Because of the fear this woman had instilled in me without thinking I
confessed to not completing the last enema.

Mrs. Winston became angry and demanded to know why. I told her I had
tried my best but could not hold as much as she had instructed. With a
smirk on her face she said that was too bad and that other provisions
would be made in the future. I was afraid to ask what she meant. Next I
was ordered to remove my coat so she could see how I looked. Goldie took
my bag and my fingers began to fumble with the buttons of my last
remaining line of defense. No sooner was the last button undone did
Goldie practically rip the coat off my shoulders.

Both women wasted little time surveying the bizarre costume I had been
ordered to wear. They both feasted on my near nakedness. Slowly they
walked around me to glimpse every angle. I felt my face flush with
embarrassment. Finally Mrs. Winston looked directly at me and
congratulated herself on the fine selection and fit. Her only complaint
was that the hooks on the cincher should be tighter and ordered Goldie
to make the adjustment. Despite my protests concerning the difficulty in
breathing, the cincher was immediately made smaller.

The effect was devastating. It felt as if my rib cage was being
crushed. The simple act of taking a breath caused pain and discomfort.
My protests were answered by being told that I would get used to it and
soon would have other problems to think about.
Next Goldie was told to put the cuffs on me. There on a small table
were four leather straps which I had not noticed. As the maid began to
engulf my wrists in the fur lined straps, Mrs. Winston explained how
these cuffs had been made especially for me and would hold me in any
position they deemed appropriate, yet would not cause any bruises. As
two more were fastened to my ankles Mrs. Winston sarcastically said that
any bruises I did receive would not be visible to the general public and
would be confined to the area between my knees and neck. After the four
cuffs had been secured to Mrs. Winston's satisfaction I learned what the
rings on the sides of the cincher were for. By means of small clips, my
wrists were fastened to my sides. This left my hands and arms immobile
and of no use in trying to defend myself. It also brought my shoulders
back bringing my breasts into greater prominence. Now totally satisfied,
Mrs. Winston announced it was time for me to meet the others. As I was
led through the house I realized for the first time that during my time
in the hall I did not hear sounds other than our own. Passing the living
room and entering the den I wondered where the others were. Could they
be upstairs I thought as we passed the stairway. We then stopped at a
door which I had seen many times but never noticed. I had just assumed
it was a closet. Suddenly Goldie produced a key and unlocked the door.
It opened to a long staircase which lead to the basement. In all my
previous visits to the house I never knew there was a floor below the
main level. I was told to follow Mrs. Winston as we began our descent
with Goldie at the rear. There was nothing at all peculiar about the
stairway, it was well decorated and luxuriously carpeted. As I slowly
followed, cautious of the extremely high heels, I felt a terrible sense
of danger. All of a sudden the recollection of the hidden room in the
basement of the Doctor's office crashed into my mind. I felt the sudden
urge to turn and run but I knew there was no escaping my fate. I was
trapped in more ways than one. I could not believe my stupidity for
stealing the money in the first place. And the reason was even more
pathetic, to buy clothes.
The stairs led to a large ornate door which was also locked. This time
it was Mrs. Winston who produced the key and opened the door. As it
opened a wave of panic came over me and I turned and tried to run. I
knew once in the room I was truly doomed. Just as she had done before
Goldie grabbed me and easily forced me in as Mrs. Winston locked the
door behind us. Once inside I gazed at my surroundings in total awe. It
was an extremely large well lit room. The area closest to the door
resembled a well appointed living room. In the far corner to the left
was an area that looked exactly like a hospital operating room. It was
complete with white tile and overhead lights. The opposite corner
resembled a medieval dungeon. It had stone walls, floors and large
wooden devices. My only thought was what kind of hell had I entered.
This had to be some kind of nightmare. This could not be real. I could
not be here.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a woman's muffled scream.
That was when I realized other people were already here. I squinted
towards the bright lights of the hospital area and focused on four other
figures. Just then the two women grabbed me by the arms and pulled me
towards the group, saying it was time to join the party. The first
person I recognized was Mr. Winston. His attire was strange to me as I
was used to always seeing him in a suit and tie. Now he wore only black
slacks and a magnificent black smoking jacket. Next my eyes came to
focus on the dreaded Doctor Kim. Just the sight of her along with the
memory of the excruciating pain she had caused brought bone chilling
fear. Then to my horror I recognized the woman from the video. It was
the prison Wardress. Before her ominous figure had a chance to fully
register my eyes came upon a man whose very presence commanded the room.
He was tall, very well built, probably in his 50s with long silver hair
and absolutely gorgeous. He wore jeans, a white dress shirt with too
many buttons open and loafers the same color as the slightly faded but
perfectly tailored jeans. As he looked in my direction I had to turn
away in total embarrassment. I should be meeting this man wearing an
evening gown, not some lingerie that made me a sexual exhibit.
I was so taken aback by the silver haired man that I stopped my
inspection of the room. A loud pained female moan made me look up again.
I now saw what had everyone's attention. There was a woman strapped to
the examining table. Although it was hard to see her I could clearly
hear her pained sobs. Mrs. Winston and Goldie both started dragging me
toward the group. Mrs. Winston was saying it was time for me to be
formally introduced. The first one to pay any attention to me was the
Wardress.
She walked toward us with her eyes riveted to me. I could actually feel
her stare consuming every curve and crevice of my body. Her cat like
eyes seemed to have the ability to remove what little clothing I did
have on. Mrs. Winston then took the opportunity to formally introduce
us. She said Debbie I want you to meet Ms. Collins. She is the Wardress
of the state prison for women. Before I could say or do anything the
Wardress tilted my head back with one finger placed under my chin. I had
been looking at the floor afraid to look directly at her. She continued
her examination of me and finally told Mrs. Winston what an excellent
specimen she had found. She added that I was much better in person and
the pictures did me no justice. She was only sorry that I did not choose
to take the prison term because of all the fun and games she was sure
she would miss out on. She went on to say that not only did she regret
my decision but she was sure that the guards and other inmates would
have found me a choice morsel. As I looked at this woman I found her
even more attractive in person than I had remembered from the video. She
was taller and larger than I had expected. Although her face was that of
a mature woman, her body would be envied by woman half her age.

Her clothing and jewelry were magnificent, definitely Armani and
Cartier. The understated elegance of the black two piece suit did little
to hide the voluptuous body it tried to conceal. The more I looked at
this woman the more I feared her. That coupled with what I had seen her
do in the video had me biting my lip and digging my fingernails into my
palms. Just then the woman on the table let out a very loud moan and
Mrs. Winston suggested we see what was going on and meet the others. As
we got to the table Mrs. Winston said I of course knew Mr. Winston and
the Doctor but she wanted me to meet Mr. and Mrs. Gund. The man with the
silver hair turned toward me and in a thick German accent introduced
himself in an extremely cordial way as Herr Gund. He then gestured to
the table and said that the woman strapped down was his wife Laura. He
then took the opportunity to visually examine my exposed form and
congratulate Mrs. Winston on her fine acquisition. The man had a
definite air of self assurance and arrogance, yet he projected power and
wealth. The Mercedes parked outside had to be his, the car fit the man.
My mind was in turmoil. The room. The people. The knowledge of why I was
here. All I could do was stand there in silence. I remembered my
instructions. Never speak unless asked a question and foremost never
address anyone without the title Master or Mistress. I thought of some
of the things that were done to me already. I also thought of what could
be done now and in the future. This was after all only the first of
twelve such parties. I remembered Mrs. Winston's words,"twelve parties,
medical examinations, fittings and whatever other preparations are
necessary". I just stood there and silently prayed I would be able to
survive the up coming year. What tortures would I be made to endure? How
many sexual deviations would I be used for? I wondered how I would
manage to conduct a somewhat normal family life? And most of all how
would I keep John from finding out. A smack to the back of my head by
Goldie brought me to attention. Mrs. Winston wanted me to come closer to
the table so I would be able to see what was being done to Laura. The
closer I got the worse the sight became. She was on her back well
secured to the table by straps around her wrists, ankles, thighs and a
wide strap across the top of her breasts. She also had a strap across
her forehead much like the one I had on me when I was at the Doctor's
office. The worst part of what I saw was the large funnel that was
strapped into her mouth. It was hard to see what her face looked like
because of the straps and the way her cheeks bulged out.
She had long blond hair and seemed to be about the same size as me. She
was wearing a black bra, garter belt and stockings. Her breasts were not
as large as mine but stood out well in the position she was in. It was
then that I noticed her stomach. It was very swollen and for a minute I
wondered if she were pregnant. I thought she might be getting an enema
but as I glanced down, saw no tube. I did notice a large butt plug in
her ass. I also saw the same type of catheter tube coming out of her
that was used on me. Just then she began to moan and to my horror
everything became clear.
The Doctor was pouring a pitcher of steaming liquid into the funnel.
Laura's reaction was instant. I watched her eyes bulge and heard her
muffled screams as the Doctor poured the hot liquid into her mouth. Her
stomach swelled even more and she was immediately covered in sweat. As I
had done when I was strapped to the table in the Doctor's office, she
was pulling on the bonds and thrashing as much as possible. As the
Doctor emptied the pitcher she quickly reached for a full one and I
heard Laura scream as much as the funnel would allow. I had to turn
away. Watching this torture being done I realized that it could as
easily be me on the table. Mrs. Winston saw my reaction and came closer
to me and began to explain what was being done. She told me that not
only was Laura Mr. Gund's wife, she was also his slave. She added that
although Laura was a slave, she was allowed to assume the role of
dominant over other females.
She continued to explain how recently she had committed the
indiscretion of spitting out her husbands cum while giving him a blow
job. He had decided that some form of oral punishment would be in order
and took this opportunity to have the Doctor do it for him. She went on
to explain how the funnel was attached to a tube that was down Laura's
throat. She said that the Doctor planned to pour over a gallon of hot
soapy water into the woman and then leave her secured to the table while
she considered her terrible conduct. She also pointed out to me that
Laura had the catheter in her and was also well plugged with an
inflatable butt plug. That way she would have to hold the entire
contents until her husband thought she had suffered enough. Mrs.
Winston's last comment to me was to remember what I was seeing. She said
this could easily be done to me if I had any problems with giving blow
jobs, eating pussies, or anything else I might be ordered to do with my
mouth. I was then told that since this was my first time in their so
called playroom, I would be given a little tour. This would help
familiarize me with the various devices that in all probability would be
used on me. Mrs. Winston continued by needlessly pointing out the fact
that the area we now stood in was very much like the special room in the
basement of the Doctor's office. The memories of what had been done in
that room came crashing into my brain.
The elaborate gynecological table to which Laura was bound being the
same as the one I had been bound to. All the tools necessary to inflict
the maximum amount of pain on a female were all present. The same type
of syringes that had been used on my breasts were all neatly displayed.
The mere sight of them caused a wave of nausea to overtake me. I
remembered the intense pain the fluids in my breasts had caused and
thought about the days of suffering I endured until the swelling had
gone down.
I saw an open cabinet which contained an assortment of dildos. Some
seemed too large to be used on any female. What made seeing them even
worse was the fact that I knew from experience how they could be used. I
had been given a small demonstration by Mrs. Winston. Looking at some of
the larger dildos I realized that the anal rape I received at her hand
could have been much worse. She must have seen the expression on my face
and asked what I found so interesting. Her question caught me off guard
and I replied without thought about the size of the dildos. I was told
not to be alarmed since the larger ones would not be used on me until I
was properly prepared.
She continued in her sarcastic tone to tell me how I would be gradually
stretched until I was able to take even the biggest one in either of my
openings. As much as I tried not to look at the bound woman on the table
a particularly loud moan caught my attention. As I looked down at Laura,
her stomach now even more grossly distended than it had been only a few
minutes ago, I realized she was begging through the funnel. Mrs. Winston
just looked down at her and said there was nothing she could do, the
length of her ordeal was up to Mr. Gund and the Doctor

The sight was too terrible for me to behold. Laura was bathed in sweat,
her eyes were glazed over and she was in uncontrollably spasms. The
sight of another woman being tortured was not an easy thing to see. It
only served to remind me of the unenviable position I was in. A slight
tug to my arm by Mrs. Winston signaled the continuation of the tour.
I was now shown an area almost hidden from view just off the medical
section. It also was completely made of white tile and very well lit.
Before I was able to focus on the rooms contents, I was informed that
this was the water room where most of the douches and enemas were
administered. In the center of the room was a apparatus that resembled
an old gynecological table. It was all shiny metal, with no padding. As
with the other tables, binding straps hung all around it. Against one
wall was a metal tray that was big enough for a person to lie in. It
resembled a bathtub with shallow sides. Upon further examination I
noticed it had a large drain and like most of what I had seen so far was
fitted with binding straps. Set into this apparatus was a set of
gleaming steel bars which formed what looked like a table with no top.
Again the ever present straps.
In the corner stood a platform with a thick pipe sticking out of it.
The pipe was about two feet high and had a large dildo attached to the
end sticking straight up. At the front of the platform were a series of
valves and gauges. There were also rings at the edges and a chain
hanging from the ceiling above it. In the opposite corner was a toilet
bowl. It just sat in the open exposed to the view of anyone looking. I
could only imagine what terrible ordeals could be carried out in this
room. As ridiculous as it now sounds I shuddered at the thought of
sitting on that bowl with no privacy at all. Before I was able to let my
mind wander too far, my attention was directed to the opposite wall.

Mrs. Winston took a sinister joy in showing me all the hoses which were
attached to an elaborate plumbing system. On the same wall were rows of
shelves neatly lined with douche and enema nozzles of every size and
shape. I was told that there was a specific nozzle for any desired
effect. Some could be inserted into the upper intestine, while others
were made to fit into a woman's uterus. Some could be expanded to
unimaginable proportions, while others had the ability of being
electrified. My expression must have given away some of my thoughts.
Mrs. Winston only smiled at me and said how she looked forward to trying
them all on me. My fears were increasing by the minute. I was beginning
to realize that what had been done to me at the Doctor's office was
nothing compared to what could be done here. Next I was directed to a
set of shelves on which many bottles were stored. I was told that they
contained an assortment of chemicals that could be used in the douches
and enemas. They ranged from simple soap to things I had never heard of.
I can not even begin to describe the gut wrenching fear I was
experiencing. I was in the hands of a group of complete lunatics and
totally at their mercy. As we exited the room I thought of the enemas I
was instructed to give myself earlier that afternoon. I remembered the
pain they had caused and knew that was nothing compared to what these
fiends would subject me to in this room. Is we walked across the medical
area, as I will refer to it, we came upon a section of the basement that
was in total contrast. This section had stone walls and floors. All the
apparatuses were constructed of heavy dark wood. Before I had a chance
to react Mrs. Winston said that this was their version of a medieval
torture chamber. She said how proud they were of this re-creation. It
had taken great expense and many months to have it built to
specifications taken from old European dungeons. She went on to say that
I probably would not know the purpose of the different things I saw so
she would give me a brief explanation of each.
First I was shown what she referred to as the rack. It was a long low
table with ropes and pulleys on each end. I was told how I could be tied
to it and stretched out until my joints were pulled to the point of
dislocation. I could also be stretched until my skin became very taut
and then I could be whipped. She said these were the main things that
were done on this but I could be sure there were many variations I would
not enjoy.
Next I was shown what she referred to as a simple whipping post and an
x-frame. These along with a long bench-like device were used mainly for
whipping. Before I could analyze what I was being shown my attention was
brought to what she called the pillory. I had seen something similar in
movies about the pilgrims. They were in the town square and people would
be bent with their necks and arms in the holes. As if she read my
thoughts she said that I would recognize this from old movies but
quickly pointed out some differences. There was a large platform on
which the legs of the victim could be spread and attached. She also told
me that since they were dealing primarily with females, the top had been
modified. It enabled them to change a piece and secure a woman's breasts
into the holes. Again in her sarcastic tone she explained how this did
not work on everyone but given the fact that my breasts were large,
would indeed work well on me.

Hearing her comment I looked down at my chest that was quite
exaggerated by the bra I was forced to wear and thought of my sisters. I
had often made comments in jest about their size calling them tit-less.
Now I wished I was a 34-A like them instead of my more than ample 34-D.
Before I could finish the thought I was pushed toward what resembled a
massive chair.
I could see that it was attached to the floor with large bolts. Upon
further examination I saw that it had no actual seat. Instead there
boards where the thighs would rest. It did not take much thought to
realize that this would leave your ass and pussy open and vulnerable. As
with the other devices there were heavy leather straps dangling from the
arms, legs and back.
Mrs. Winston was helpful in showing me an assortment of wooden and
metal attachments hanging on a wall next to the chair. She said that
this was one of their most versatile torture instruments. There were
pieces that could be put on the seat so dildos could be attached. Other
pieces were lined with small needles for the victim to sit on.
She pointed to an attachment that when put in place formed a platform.
It was made to fit under the breasts of the woman in the chair. This she
explained was invaluable for tit torture.
There was that phrase again. I had heard it in the Doctor's office
during my examination and I remembered what the Doctor had said. Because
of the size and shape of my breasts I would be able to take a lot of tit
torture. If the injections I had received were any indication, I doubted
I would be able to take as much as they planned to give me. I have
always considered my breasts one of the most sensitive parts of my body.
I remember routine mammograms done by my own Doctor. I would be crying
openly when they were put in the X-ray machine and pressed. Now looking
at this chair and listening to what was being said, the thought of
having my breasts, one of my most valuable assets tortured, caused an
even deeper sense of anguish.
Ever since I was a young girl and started to develop my chest was one
of the things about myself I was most proud of. As I grew older I would
take every opportunity to wear things low cut or tight that showed off
the creamy white cleavage. Again as if she were some kind of wizard,
Mrs. Winston seemed to read my thoughts. She said how much fun they
would all have torturing the tits I had been so willing to flaunt. Then
she said that I should not worry too much because they promised not to
cause any permanent injury. Also I should not be so sullen at the
mention of tit torture alone. They planned to hurt my cunt, ass and
every other part of my body. The comment and my expression brought about
a hearty laugh by Mrs. Winston. Next to the chair was what looked like a
simple sawhorse. Mrs. Winston told me how I would be bound over it for
an assortment of punishments. Pointing at the upper edge she said I
would also be made to ride it. I was not sure of what she meant until
she made me look closer. I saw that the top was cut into a narrow
triangle with small wedges that looked like sawteeth. I must have had a
puzzled look on my face because she again laughed, called me stupid and
said " I guess you do not know what I mean by riding it". To my horror
she explained how I would be hung from the ceiling with my legs astride
so my cunt was on the top edge supporting my full weight.

She was a master at her game. The real torture had not even begun and I
was suffering untold agonies in my mind. I had heard of mental torture
and now for the first time realized its total effectiveness. Just as I
was being directed to the corner of this area, we were interrupted by
the Wardress. She informed Mrs. Winston that the others were eager to
begin with the festivities. She added that she also wanted to begin.
Mrs. Winston replied that she was almost through with the tour and only
had the tank left to show me. The Wardress asked if she could explain
its uses since she had one very similar at the prison and used it often.
In response Mrs. Winston said "please be my guest". I watched Mrs.
Winston walk off to a small area that resembled a living room with
couches, chairs and coffee tables. The Wardress grabbed my arm in a
vise-like grip and walked me to the corner of the room. They said I
would be shown the tank. There was nothing I could see except a large
board on the floor. The Wardress commanded me not to move as she let go
of my arm. She went and moved the piece of wood out of the way. That
exposed what appeared to be a large hole in the floor. It was about the
size of a large garbage can and was pure white. That was in total
contrast to the rest of this area. It had a thick clear plastic cover
that was split down its length with three holes. The center hole was
larger than the two end ones and it resembled the pillory. I could
clearly see locks which held the cover in place. Visible inside were
several openings in the sides and base. Mounted to the wall next to it
was an elaborate control panel with a small trap door underneath. As I
was trying to figure out what its purpose was the Wardress pushed me
toward it and said I should take a closer look so I would know what
would happen when I was put into it. Now that Ms. Collins or the
Wardress as I had come to know her stood next to me I realized how big a
woman she was. In the 5 inch heels I was forced to wear I stood nearly 6
feet tall. This woman had at least 3 inches on me. She was also much
broader than my size 6 frame. What surprised me most was the strength of
her grip on my arm. The words being whispered in my ear brought my
attention back to the tank. I was told how I would be made to climb down
into it. Then the clear plastic cover would be put around my wrists and
neck and locked into place. For the first time since the tour had began
I was asked if I understood. I did not, and when I failed to reply the
Wardress sarcastically called me stupid. She then began to explain in
more detail. She told me that this device was designed for more
diabolical forms of torture. Once I was locked in place, they would all
be able to relax and watch the show I would put on. My questioning look
brought an evil smirk to her face. I was told that none of the previous
occupants of the tank understood its full potential until they had
experienced it. Then they would promise and do almost anything not to be
put in again.

She was playing a game with me and doing a very good job of it. As
horrible as some of the other things I had seen were, this was worse in
a different way. It had no obvious way of causing pain. As if she too
was able to read my thoughts she started to tell me how once locked in
place a variety of things would happen. For example, after a severe
whipping the tank could be filled with a mixture of salt, lemon,
vinegar, alcohol and hot water. Screaming, I could be kept in it until
my skin almost blistered.

Another variation was to be submerged in ice cold water which would
cause violent shaking and muscular cramping. Now I was beginning to
understand her warnings. Before I could say a word she opened a little
cabinet near the tank and showed me about a dozen large glass jars. As
had been the case with everything else these people did, all of the jars
were neatly arranged and clearly marked. I began to silently read the
labels and as my brain absorbed what I saw, I screamed and turned to
run. Through all the events that lead up to this moment I had tried to
act stoic and accept my fate. I kept telling myself that somehow I would
get through it. After all, I was guilty of stealing a large sum of
money. I had also made the choice between a year of slavery or five
years in prison. The Winstons were very clear about the fact that as
retribution, I would have to be punished. What I was seeing was beyond
punishment. It was beyond the limits of female endurance. I ran
aimlessly toward the door screaming for help. With my arms fastened to
the sides of the cincher it was hard to maintain balance. The five inch
heels also made it easy to catch me. Within a few seconds Goldie and the
Wardress were dragging me back toward the tank. I was in a state of
absolute panic. As bad as what had already been done to me, or what I
had seen or heard had been, it paled in comparison to the prospect of
those jars.
It took the efforts of both women to hold me near the open cabinet. In
my mind this had be the worst form of torture that could be used on me.
Ever since I was a child I had a tremendous fear of bugs, snakes or
rodents. I believe most woman do. Now I was staring at glass jars full
of these creatures. The Wardress was the first to speak. I was told that
my reaction was not uncommon. Most of the victims who were faced with
the inhabitants of the jars would submit to almost anything instead.
Some would even inflict pain onto themselves. She completely disregarded
my pleas and struggles and continued to tell me how I could be locked in
the tank with the contents of any of the jars. To make her point she
picked up one that was labeled Leeches. As I stared at the slimy things
she told me how they could be added to the water, along with me. Before
I was able to say a word she replaced that jar and showed me one labeled
Blood Worms.
On and on she went. I saw small Snakes, Mice, Hamsters, Spiders,
several types of Ants, Bees and even 2 large eels. As if I had not seen
or heard enough she told me how in her tank at the prison she would
often put an uncooperative girl in along with a cat. Once water started
going in the cat would become frantic trying to escape and severely
scratch and even bite who ever was in the tank. To further make her
point the Wardress ran her hand over the mounds of my breasts and asked
"imagine the cats claws and teeth digging into these". The point was
indeed made. Although I had very few choices, I would submit to almost
any form of punishment or degradation to avoid this torture. Just seeing
the different creatures gave me a good indication of what could happen
once I was locked in place. I was beaten and I knew it. I stopped
struggling and just relaxed in the grip of the two women. Just what I
had seen took most of the fight out of me. The Wardress had me terrified
and she knew it. I guess she wanted to see me squirm so she continued.

She made me listen as she described one of her favorites. As Goldie
held me the Wardress again squeezed my breasts and told me how she would
make a paste out of honey and corn meal. The mixture would then be
painted on my tits, around my ass and all over my pussy. For emphasis
she released my breasts and ran her long nails along the sides of my
pussy. Without warning she even jabbed a sharp nail into me and said "I
make sure I get a lot in here". Then she said I would be locked in the
tank. To demonstrate what she was saying she opened the trap door and
showed me how it lead to the inside of the tank. Then she would put a
hungry chicken in with me. I felt my eyes bulge in disbelief as she
said, "think how you'll scream as the chicken's sharp beak takes little
bites out of you as it tries to get the food". She scraped me as she
pulled out her finger and added "it can even reach in here". With my
head down I walked docilely with them as I was lead toward the area that
resembled a living room or den.
The Wardress took a seat and was served a drink by Goldie. All of the
other guests except Laura were lounging with drinks awaiting my arrival.
I was directed to stand in front of them as they all looked me over and
made comments. The Doctor stood up and began to read from a folder. She
said that all the tests they ran were satisfactory and I was in
excellent health. She also told everyone that pursuant to my
examinations, she was of the opinion that I would be able to endure a
lot of abuse. All she had seen also indicated that I could be used for
all of their favorite activities, with few limitations. She added that
as usual both of my openings would have to be stretched. Her suggestion
was that we should begin in this area to see what I could take and to
show my obedience. I stood there not knowing what she meant as the
others voiced their agreement. Goldie was given orders by Mrs. Winston
and went to a closet for the necessary objects. I silently watched as a
small tripod was set up and a plastic box was put on the table in front
of me. The Doctor then said as she uncovered the box that it contained
six numbered dildos of increasing size. I was to attach them to the
stand starting with #1 and at her direction insert them into the opening
she chose

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